


then we won’t be strangers anymore

by orphan_account



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 16:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: child alters often hold traumatic experiences related to csa. sometimes their role consists of that entirely, both their past and their present. other times, though, they get to enjoy being themselves with those they trust.





	then we won’t be strangers anymore

**Author's Note:**

> jared and dadda are also alters.
> 
> orphaned because op is a coward, for the time being.

Jared wakes him up gently because, apparently, somebody wants to meet him _ right now. _ Cheeto’s eyes are sleepy, droopy and half-open, sitting up where he’d been asleep in the loft of Jared’s barn. The inside was warm and nice like fresh honey, with a big, comfy bed and a dresser he wasn’t allowed to look into in the loft. On the ground floor, there lived a large fire-filled oven that kept the living room safe from the dark and the evil outside. No television or electronics were allowed in the barn with them. This kept them safe, and it kept everyone else safe from them, too.

So, instead of watching TV like some of the others did, Cheeto only knew when to come out when somebody like Dadda or Jared came and got him, except—Dadda hadn’t been by to see him in a long time. Cheeto didn’t know exactly why that _ was, _ but right now he was too busy with waking up and getting used to being big again to worry about that. Besides, Jared was better than Dadda, in some ways. Maybe in lots of ways. But he’d never say that to anyone ever, except for Jared.

The room he’s in right now isn’t anything like the barn. It’s just as warm-colored, almost, except it’s more yellow than orange, and there’s a man across from him who isn’t Dadda _ or _ Jared. Or even the sad man. But this man has a soft, hopeful-looking smile on his face, so Cheeto returns it.

“I thought you might like them,” the man says, turning his head to the side and gazing fondly over Cheeto’s things laid out across the living room table. “After we talked about it, I remember you seemed pretty interested in the whole thing...”

“Mhmm,” Cheeto says into the pause which follows, even though he didn’t remember this man at all. They’d never met before. But Cheeto reaches out his hand and picks up his plastic, brand new-looking dinky, brings it eagerly to his mouth and sets it against his tongue, latches his lips around it and immediately shuts his eyes, content to have something back in his mouth again. And something that was _ his, _to boot. Not something that belonged to somebody else.

The man seated beside him chuckles, and if his eyes were open, Cheeto would see this man’s shining with bright, unadulterated affection.

“What a precious sight you make.”

People were _ always _ calling him cute. A ‘big man,’ a ‘little fella,’ a ‘cutiepants.’ He liked those sorts of names better than whenever somebody called him the sad man’s name. He was barely ever allowed to introduce himself.

To show his appreciation, Cheeto dips his head forward and nuzzles against the man’s shoulder, softly suckling the bulb nestled between his hard palate and his tongue. The man smells nice. Like a fancy clothing store.

“Do you want to play with anything else?” The man asks him softly. Cheeto opens his eyes again and looks at his poptions, his dinky moving softly against his lips.

“Mmmm,” he hums, contemplative. He stays leaning against the man who smells nice and reaches out for a soft, light blue blankie on the table. It has half a bear attached to the top, and it is _ very _ soft. Cheeto’s cheeks heat up from it, his heartbeat thudding against his chest at touching something he’s so excited about. He pulls the bear closer to his chest and brings his legs up onto the couch, curls up around the blankie and holds it between both hands. There’s another chuckle from the nice man next to him and Cheeto looks over at him.

He’s very handsome and he looks very _ happy. _ Maybe they can talk together. He seems nice enough. Not really that dangerous. If he were dangerous, Jared would have told him as much. 

“Um,” Cheeto says, losing his dinky in the process, “he’s s-..._ soft.” _He holds the light blue bear out for the man to touch and the man does, big grown-up hand moving between Cheeto’s big grown-up hands to touch the bear’s feathery fleece head.

“He _ is _ soft. Is he your new friend?” The man is fiddling with something against his leg. Cheeto’s eyes fix on the motion and see the man is wiping Cheeto’s dinky against his leg. Then the man offers it back to him. Instead of using his hands, which are holding onto his new friend, anyway, Cheeto leans forward and captures the nipple back between his lips, hunkering down against the man’s front in the same motion. Wordlessly asking for affection.

The man obliges, another light bout of laughter as his arms pull Cheeto close and hug him. The man’s thumb brushing against Cheeto’s shoulder. He surveys his bear friend again. It was nice of this man to give him things. Maybe he had to give that one sort of thing back, like he used to have to.

“Mm,” Cheeto says, his eyebrows drawing together measuredly. He reaches up and holds his dinky because he doesn’t want to lose it this time. “What do...I c-call you?”

The man considers this. Maybe he’s not allowed to say his name to strangers, either.

“Well,” the man says, shifting back against the couch and pulling Cheeto with him. He’s happy to curl up, putting his dinky back in his mouth and perching his bear friend atop the man’s knee. “I suppose you could call me whatever in the hell you want.”

Oh, a bad word. Cheeto winces at it, glances around the room to look for broken glass or strewn magazines, but he doesn’t see any. He turns his head and burrows down against the man’s chest to hide, just in case.

“Aww,” the man coos, grinning. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. We don’t have to pick a name for me in this very moment.” The man’s fingers shift through Cheeto’s hair and it feels _ really _ nice. Like he might just go back to bed. His head is zooming away again like it did whenever he had to leave but Jared didn’t come get him, but he wants to _ stay _ here with this nice man, so he brings his soft, soft bear up to his cheek and nuzzles it.

There we go. Just a few times.

Now he feels more like he’s here.

Cheeto opens his eyes again and leans forward for the table again, setting down his bear and picking up a little wavy rattle. There’s a dragon on top of it, cartoonish and sort of scary. Cheeto makes a quiet noise and puts it back on the table, pulls back his hand like it’s been burned.

“Don’t like dragons?” The man’s voice is soft, but after a moment, he speaks and he sounds a bit more stern. “This isn’t a safeword sort of situation, is it? The dragon rattle?”

Cheeto doesn’t know what any of that means, but Jared tells him to shake his head ‘no,’ so he does, and instead he tucks back into the man’s front, brings his legs over so that he’s more in his lap.

“Good,” the man says in a relieved sort of way, “you worried me there for a moment, little one.”

His belly feels funny. And his other parts. That’s what this was for, right? To feel funny and nice? Maybe?

Did the man feel nice?

“I wanna call you some-something,” Cheeto tries again, holding his dinky in a clumsy, ham-handed fist.

“You do?”

Cheeto nods.

“You can call me something. What would you like to call me?” The man’s hand tries moving through his hair again, and Cheeto isn’t ready to float away yet, so he shrugs his shoulders and squirms out of the man’s reach for the bear again. There’s big boy pants and stuff on the table, too. Was he going to be here long enough to change? He didn’t get to stay for a long time, usually. He usually stayed inside.

His head feels funny even without the hand in his hair, now, so Cheeto smooths his hand up and down his face a few times to get and get back down into his thoughts. It works, mostly, and in an irritated fit he takes his bear in his hands and wriggles out of the man’s lap and onto the floor in front of the sofa.

“Where are you going?” More soft amusement from the man. 

“Here.” Cheeto sets his bear as upright as he can get on the coffee table before pulling at the jeans clinging to his legs. They’re too big, he doesn’t want them on anymore. “Off!”

“You want to get into your baby clothes?”

“_ M’not _ a baby!” He looks up at the man to _glare_ at him, and the man is holding up his hands in surrender, showing the top half of his teeth with his smile.

“All right, you’re not a baby. But are you at least _ my _ baby?”

“No. M’not a baby…” Cheeto picks up the bear and makes to get up, but it’s hard and he can’t do it. His arms are weak. He feels irritated and like a baby, now, and his eyes are watering. “Off!” He cries again. 

“Okay, big boy. You’re not a baby, you’re my big boy.”

“Yeah.”

“Come back up here and I’ll help you get changed.”

“Can’t.” Cheeto pushes his bear along the coffee table past the sippy cups and the nappies and his clothes, using the sad man’s long, _ long _ arms to keep pushing way farther than he’d ever be able to push.

“I think you can,” the man urges. Cheeto feels the man’s hands hook under his armpits and he barely fights it, whinging and moaning until eventually his knees are under him and then he basically has no choice but to stand up.

“Mister,” Cheeto says decisively, just as Mister starts undoing his dumb, tight jeans for him.

“Hmm?” Mister hums, his eyebrows moving together with a soft, subtle tilt of his head.

“C’n call you Mister.”

“While I _ am _ indeed a Mr.,” Mister says, pulling down Cheeto’s jeans and big boy pants in one go so that he starts to shiver in the lukewarm living room, “I think that might feel a little too _ anonymous _ for my tastes, given the scenario.” Mister’s voice gets gruffer naturally toward the end as he bends to help Cheeto get his feet out of the tight jeans’ legs, his feet caught in the end of them at both ankles. Eventually he’s free, and he realizes he dropped his dinky again somewhere, so he brings his bear up to his mouth and starts chewing on his arm.

“What’s mono-man-ous?”

“Anonymous? You don’t know what that means?”

Cheeto shakes his head and Mister’s eyes widen a little, amusement still glittering at the back of them.

“Oh,” Mister breathes, “that’s right. Even big boys like you don’t know many grown-up words.” 

“All the grown-up words are bad words,” he says around the bear’s arm, full of scorn and distaste. His tone. Not his blankie.

“Are they?” Mister lifts up Cheeto’s shirt and Cheeto helps him get it off, raising up his arms, holding his bear between his teeth. He takes the bear out from his mouth after his arms and his hands are free again.

“They’re all bad words.”

“I see.”

“What’s mono-man-ous?” He’s more insistent this time.

“Anonymous means hidden away. Secret. Sometimes, people think it means coward.” Mister stares off into the room and Cheeto follows his gaze but there’s nothing there, so he’s about to put his bear back in his mouth when Mister speaks again. “You can call me whatever you want. I think just ‘Mister’ sounds like we’re strangers.”

“We _ are _ strangers. Strangers dangers.”

Mister chuckles again, and Cheeto bends down to push his hand playfully against the man’s knee. He keeps _ laughing _ when Cheeto isn’t even trying to be funny. And Cheeto’s starting to get _ cold. _“You don’t even know my name.”

Oops. He does, though, right? He knows the sad man’s name? Even though that isn’t _ his _ name.

“I don’t?”

“Uh-uh.” The bear’s back in his mouth, his eyes skirting away and Cheeto tries to walk away from the room, away from all this talking and all these answers and stuff, but Mister sets his hands on Cheeto’s hips and scoops him back up into his lap, making Cheeto grin and giggle and _ squirm. _ “Le’go!”

“Don’t you want to tell me your name?”

“No! I don’t know your name.”

“You haven’t picked one for me, yet.” Sad man’s hair is in Cheeto’s eyes and Mister brushes it away. At least now that they’re hugging, Cheeto doesn’t feel so cold anymore. Sitting in Mister’s lap, he feels a lump against his hip and remembers what goes there in that spot on boys. Or people who were made into boys, at first. Sad man is like that. Supposed to be a boy but not really a boy. Cheeto didn’t care about stuff like that. He just wanted snacks and soft blankies.

“Ummm,” Cheeto turns in Mister’s arms and burrows down again, his feet tucking under a thin blanket up on the couch beside them.

“You could just use my given name.”

Cheeto shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know that one, either. You didn’t tell me it.”

“You’re going so far into this,” Mister says breathily, smiling that wide, bright smile again. Cheeto shrugs once more, looking down at his bear where the toy’s light blue fur has started clumping together from being in his mouth.

“Does ‘sir’ go too far into a different sort of scene?” Mister asks. How come _ he’s _ wearing all his clothes and Cheeto’s in none? He wants his undies and his onsie back. He kind of needs to pee.

And he doesn’t know what any of those words mean, either.

“Listen,” Cheeto says. He sets his bear down against his bare thigh, curled up in Mister’s lap. Clasps his hands together, professionally. “I wanna play. And I wanna be in close, such as like my big boy pants and my sh_ -shirt. _ And we can _ both _ play with my bear but you gotta call me _ my _ name. So that we’re not strangers no more.”

“Anymore,” Mister corrects him. Cheeto reaches up and rubs his eyes with one hwnd, almost at a _ loss _ with this nice-smelling man. His voice goes quiet. “Did you _ hear _ me, though?”

“Yes,” Mister says, “yes, yes. I heard you, baby. After you tell me what to call you, we won’t be strangers anymore.” Mister sets his hand over Cheeto’s thigh and it sounds like he’s finally going to listen.

“Okay,” Cheeto says evenly, taking his bear in both hands and setting it between them like a peace offering.

“What’s your name, now? Hm?” Mister kisses his head and Cheeto still smiles despite how _ weird _ this whole thing has been. Nobody ever cares what his name is. They just do what they want or he cries or both, and then he goes back home to Jared’s barn.

“Cheeto.”

Mister _ laughs _ again, but this time it hurts.

“Hey,” Cheeto tries to get up, frowning again, “s’not funny!”

“No, you’re right.” The hands around him tighten and smooth soothing waves across his arms, his back, and Cheeto breathes out through his nose, frustrated. “It isn’t funny. I just wasn’t expecting you to say Ch… _ Cheeto.” _ Mister kisses Cheeto’s head and he tries to squirm away again, feeling like this is _ taking _ too long.

“Are you not...having fun?” Mister sounds sad, now, like the sad man does. Cheeto sighs. Why does _ he _ have to be the grown-up?

“Yes.”

_ “Yes, you’re not having fun?” _

Cheeto shakes his head, leans up, and kisses Mister’s lips to make him shush. Just shush up about it.

Mister’s caught off-guard—Cheeto can hear the gasp—but he swallows it up and does every trick with his mouth and his tongue he can think of. Him and Jared are good at it. That’s mostly why they have to stay in the barn a lot of the time.

His hand smooths down Mister’s chest, looking for the soft thumping that’s like a bunny rabbit in everhbody’s chest. He finds it and smooths his hand back up, accomplished, and he stops kissing Mister with a soft, parting-lips noise. Mister’s cheeks are flushed deep pink. He looks like he has stars in his eyes.

“_Cheeto _ is pretty damn good at kissing.” 

“Please don’t say damn.”

“I’m sorry.” A kiss against Cheeto’s head.

Cheeto picks up his bear again, hugs it to his chest and turns around in Mister’s lap to pick up the night-time nappies off the table. “C’n I have these now, please?” 

“Do you want me to help you put Goodnites on, baby?”

Cheeto nods his head, feeling tired and only barely far away. Was he gonna _ play _ with Mister or just sit here with him? He watches his bear while Mister stands him up between the sofa and the living room table, shivers as he steps into his Goodnites and they travel up his thighs. 

“Did you still want to…?” Mister trails off and Cheeto looks at him. He looks a little afraid again. “I mean, if you… We don’t have to continue as planned. If you’d rather not.”

“I don’t think I wanna play with you if you don’t tell me your name.”

“Do you _ want _ me to say it?” Mister shifts forward on the couch, big shoulders over sturdy elbows resting atop strong knees. He _ is _ handsome, but he’s also very _ weird. _ “Because sometimes you get upset over it, and other times you _ really _ want me to say it. I understand having different mentalities depending on how your week has been going, but if—“

“Say it, then.”

“You can call me Daddy, if you want to.”

There’s silence. Cheeto’s eyebrows draw together. He reaches down and readjusts his bit in his Goodnites, picks up his onsie off the living room table and holds it in front of him. It looks like it’ll fit the sad man, so it’ll fit him, too, that way.

“I already have a Dadda.”

Mister’s expression collapses. “You _ do?” _

“We don’t play together, though. He doesn’t really like me.”

Mister shifts on the couch, looks off to the side. He avoids Cheeto’s gaze for a second, so of course Cheeto tries to find it. “What is it?” he asks.

“If you’re seeing someone else who doesn’t appreciate you, I don’t think you should be seeing them.” Mister meets his gaze, then, and Cheeto sets his hand carefully over Mister’s knee to pat it. He just doesn’t understand, does he?

“It’s none of my business,” Mister starts again, but Cheeto cuts him off.

“Dadda doesn’t ever visit me, so it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about it. Okay?”

Mister still looks like he’s in trouble. Cheeto’s shoulders deflate as he suppresses another sigh. He offers his bear, sassily, the onsie in his other hand trailing along the ground.

“Do _ you _ wanna cuddle my blankie?”

“I’d much rather cuddle _ you, _ if I have that option.”

Cheeto shakes the onsie. “Close first!”

“Clothes first!” Mister repeats, raising up his arms and smiling, claps his hands gently and Cheeto’s _ very _ sleepy, now. 

Oh.

His arms go slack, his head spinning around in a _ big _ circle...

“Hey,” Mister says softly, and Cheeto can feel Mister’s hands against his shoulders but it’s _ really _ far and he wants to nap, sort of, but— “Cheeto, hey… What’s going on, little one? Are you feeling ill again? Do you need to use your safeword?”

He doesn’t want to talk anymore, so Cheeto shakes his head ‘no’ and blinks slowly. Is Jared trying to come in, instead? Or maybe stand there and help him? He doesn’t see anybody else. He doesn’t need help. But this isn’t fun.

Cheeto steps forward and wraps his arms around Mister’s waist, buries his face against the man’s sturdy, nice-smelling torso and it does help keep him there, but he still feels too _ small. _He doesn’t want to talk. He wants his blankie and his clothes and fun and then he wants to nap forever.

He nuzzles Mister’s chest and _ whines. _

“All right, Cheeto. It’s all right. Let’s get your necessities together and move into the bedroom, hm? You look like you need a nap.”

Another soft shake of his head but Cheeto listens, loosely holding onto his bear’s paw while Mister gathers up his clothes and some other things and leads him down the hall to a bedroom. 

Cheeto wants to do what he does and then he wants to go to bed. He’s really good at it and usually it feels nice, too, so maybe he can skip whatever it is Mister’s planning and just finish everything up.

Mister’s facing the bed in his fancy grown-up clothes, putting down a big blankie and messing with bottles of what look to be soap, more dinkies and some sticks that Cheeto feels like he knows what do. Or something.

Instead, Cheeto steps over and wraps his arms around Mister from behind, nuzzling against his back and sliding his hands _ down _ Mister’s thighs, back up over the front of his fancy trousers. He can’t see Mister’s face, but he can feel his bit getting bigger.

His voice is still gone, so he leans up on his tiptoes to kiss just under Mister’s hair, soundly, repeatedly.

“Wait, this is…” Cheeto _ grabs _ carefully through Mister’s trousers, feeling warmth pool deep in his belly. He doesn’t need his onsie. He’s warm enough now, and Mister is pressing forward into his hand and panting.

“Such a naughty boy,” he mutters, which is something Cheeto’s been called, too, “who taught you how to—oh, _ fuck, _please…” He’d slipped his hand down the front of Mister’s trousers, starting to feel a little out of breath, himself. Cheeto ruts against Mister’s hip, practiced, in time with his hand he’s curled around Mister’s bit in his underpants, there’s barely enough space to move his wrist. 

“I’m—“ 

Cheeto gnaws on his lip, wants his bear back, wants something in his _ mouth, _ as Mister goes still but shakes, snakes, shakes and makes Cheeto’s hand sticky. He grimaces and pulls his hand out, immediately starts licking his skin clean. He doesn’t like being sticky, even if he does like cheetos. He eats them carefully. He’s not a b4rbarian.

“You did so well, baby…” Mister is saying. “Fuck… I didn’t mean to come already, I’m sure I’m going to be hard again soon. You look absolutely _ precious _ in these nappies...”

Cheeto rubs at his eyes and shrugs his shoulders, fa11s as1eep for 0ne sec0nd, and when he w4kes up again, he’s right there, _ right there, _ Mister down on his knees in front of him and Cheeto can’t be quiet, he didn’t know how anybody was _ ever _ quiet when they felt this good, and his fingers _ tighten _ in Mister’s hair and he holds him close as he _ shoots _ right into Mister’s mouth, and now he’s shaking so bad he’s _ vibrating. _Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

Mister pulls back and visibly swallows, twice, and he licks his lip and licks across his palm, too, and Cheeto has to sit down. Mister kisses him but he’s too sleepy to respond, so after a moment there’s another chuckle and Mister kisses his forehead.

“That was _ fantastic, _ baby… God, I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“Uh-huh,” Cheeto says, still coming down from it after having jumped in line that. Maybe Jared had thought he’d earned it. Maybe Cheeto had fought his way back in, he couldn’t exactly remember. But now he feels tired and clingy, so he leans forward into Mister’s arms and decides he’s going to visit him again soon.

And maybe, he won’t need to take a nap at all, next time.  
  



End file.
